Walking through it.

Isaac's stone went in the day after Father's Day. As I was driving to go visit him and to see his marker, my mind drifted back to the day we placed him in the ground. Our service was small, only my closest friends and family were there. I remember feeling so proud of my baby and so happy to have in my arms again. He looked like a baby doll. I don't know if it was because I was doped up on Xanax, or if it was because I wasn't familiar with funerals, but I was expecting to hold Isaac through out the service. I wasn't prepared at all for when I was instructed to lay Isaac in his casket. I remember the children starting to sob and I remember the tears blinding my eyes. I remember thinking "Oh God... Father... Do I really have to say goodbye?". "Do I really have to put my child down?". I remember kissing him over and over again, like mad, laying him down, tucking him in, kissing him again, and stumbling to my chair. I really didn't want to make a scene, but I remember thinking to myself... this is why mothers fall to their knees and wail when their children die. The pain could kill you, I swear it would, I thought in that moment. Andrew was the only listed palbearer. Ian was the only listed honorary palbearer. Andrew carried the baby out. We drove Isaac, in his casket, to the grave site, on my lap. My poor baby, dead, in a box, on my lap. I was proud to do it. But I was mad as hell. I remember thinking who the hell made this decision for me. Did I really agree to this? To carry my child, only to later bury him?

It's almost been three months now. I've struggled with blogging, because there are some people that read my blog that I have decided (peacefully and confidently) that I did not want them in my life. It bothers me to have made that decision, still knowing that they can be a part of my life this way. I've thought back and forth about setting my blog to private, but I decided it was more important to keep the avenues of communication open. Not for them, but for me, and for you. I need to be able to share my story in an open forum. I cherish meeting new people, and reaching out and touching those back, that have touched my life so deeply. If another has to read my blog to keep tabs on me, then so-be-it, I wouldn't have shared with them otherwise.

Summer rolls on here. The children are happy and my days are mad busy with work and play and housework and cleaning. I have a few people I keep in touch with personally - - those would be my nearest and dearest. Othen than that, I stay home, in my "hole" as I refer to it. I keep to myself, avoiding most communication with the outside world. I like being in my own space. I like being alone. I'm different. I can't fix or change it, and don't necessarily think I should have to. We're planning ahead for our next baby. Making plans for the days, weeks, and months ahead. But for now, for now I try to make it through my days, being present in motherhood and as a wife and friend the best I know how, inspite of this huge sorrow I feel and burden I carry. Heart ache is really over rated. I'm beginning to think growth is, too. Some days I wish I could go back to how it was before. No such luck, friends. No such luck.

This road.

Friends, this road is so long and so hard. Grieving seems to have a time and season of it's own. Some days are good - - really, really good. And some days are hard - - really, really hard. Mothers Day hurt this year. Today hurt. Tonight hurts.

Today my heart aches for my friend Celia. Today I carry her heartache and my own. She gave birth to Noah on Mothers Day, born with anencephaly, as Isaac was. Noah has entered this world, and slipped onto the next. In part, this is an update I read tonight, written by Celia's husband:

"Today was another hard part of Noah's Journey. I carried Little Noah to the funeral home. My heart broke as I pulled little Noah from Celia's arms and carried him on the last part of his journey... My tears soaked his little face as I held him close."

My heart aches for that sweet family, and my heart aches for myself. I remember watching the clock after Isaac was born and then died. I watched the clock as I knew 24 hours later, I would have to call the mortuary. I stayed up with Isaac all night, as did Andrew. I did my best to not nod off, even though I was delirious from exhaustion. I would catch myself sleeping and rub my face to wake myself up. I would shake my head and stretch my arms. I knew I needed to spend each minute with my baby. I knew the minutes would fly by, and I knew the time to say goodbye was drawing close. I knew the time I had would never be enough. It wasn't. Is still isn't. As the night turned into morning, Andrew called the funeral home. Some one was dispatched to the hospital. A kind man walked in, and I began to sob. I asked the man if I had to give him the baby, and he said that I did. I kissed Isaac over and over again, and handed him to Andrew, and looked away as he carried him out the door. I held myself and rocked and stared ahead blankly. The man passed by the door way with Isaac, and I laid back on my pillow and fell asleep. Now was the time to sleep. Now was the time to sleep and dream of my son that had just been taken from my arms. Now was the time to sleep and pretend none of what had just passed had never happened.

Stop by and offer Celia and her sweet family words of comfort. Do it for me. And for her. Tell her I sent you so that she knows that I love her.

21.

Twenty one days have now come and gone since we met our mighty Isaac. Today was a bit touch and go, but we got through it. And not only got through it, but I was productive today. The house is clean. We went to the grocery store as a family tonight. We ate homemade food, the washing is swishing away - I even gardened a little bit today. Not too bad for a bad day - - agree??

Back to my Isaac's birth story. I've have scheduled c-sections with my babies after I gave birth to my oldest child vaginally, and she got stuck on the way out. Not pretty. Not nice. Not pleasant. VERY painful. My c-section was scheduled with Isaac at 34.5 weeks because of the high amniotic levels I was carrying around. I was informed a normal water level is up to 25. 25-35 was high, and at 33 weeks I was toting around a level of 44 and gaining. And boy could I tell. During delivery the water was very apparent. Apparent spilling over onto the floor, apparent spurting out in a spray, and apparent when we ran out of suction cups. I filled over 3 containers - usually a woman needs one per surgery. My Doc said I set the record - - 12 liters., 25 pounds or so of JUST water. Nice.

I suppose the only other mishaps of the day was my IV and my spinal block. Friends, I was poofy head to toe with water. They could not find a vein to poke to save their lives. OUCH. And my spinal block - - my spinal block took FOUR attempts. Not fun. NOT comfortable. Not to mention it HURTS. Bee sting poke, my BUTT! I would have to say that was the closest I came to blowing a fuse, hunched over my WAY too big belly, try not to tip off the table, and trying hard to not be smothered by Andrew, who was trying to make sure I was staying put. Whatever.

Next time. Now, next time we'll talk about the birth of an angel, my angel. We'll talk about it when I am a little more with it, and a little more strong.

Till then, Ladies. I love you. Each and every one of you.

It's time.

Me and my greatest friend and husband, Andrew.

Me and one of my dearest friends/sister/neighbor/girlfriend, Lisa.

My sweet, sweet baby boy, Isaac.


It's time friends. It's time to start writing the story about how we came to meet this sweet and perfect soul. The last of my family has left my home, and today was my first day home, all alone. I'll be honest and admit, it was hard. Not as hard as I had expected, but it was hard for me. I've been distracted the last week having my grandparents here making plans with me each day.... today there were no plans. Just me, home with the kids, and my grief, which is still very much there. The grief, although I feel it at some level all of the time, is not what one would imagine. I still feel joy and peace and comfort. I still feel happy and blessed and content. I feel all of those things mixed in with the dull heart ache of losing my child. It's manageable. Do-able. Bearable. None of which I would wish on my worst enemy, but we're making it - - one step at a time.

April 8th was the day our sweet Isaac was born into the world, living. I stayed up the entire night before.... cleaning the house, folding clothes, pacing back and forth. I fixed my hair, did my nails..... packed and re-packed my bags. 5am finally arrived, and Andrew and I picked up Lisa, and we headed to the hospital. Our check in was un-eventful, although the nurse was a bit of a dumb ass and had not been informed about our situation. She went on and on about the nursery safety guidelines until I finally spoke up and told her that my baby was going to die that day. She looked at me with a blank stare, and went on with what she was doing.

Once we got to our room I put on my lovely gown, and was of course bare-assed. I joked with Lisa that she was going to see a "new side of me", as I scooted over to my bed. The nurses came in and did all those things that nurses do.... and would you believe me if I told you the nurse assigned to me that morning was PREGNANT?? She sure was, and obviously so..............




I'm going to continue Isaac's birth story over the next several posts, complete with pictures. I also wanted to very much thank those of you whom have visited here with me and have left behind your love and support. I'm not in good form these days, but I plan to visit each of your blogs, that you call home, but I wanted to say thank you, in the mean time. I have been so touched (and surprised) by the great numbers of visitors and commentors. We're breaking records around here.... all made possible by one sweet little baby boy, with a very mighty soul. I'll be in touch.

Slipping away....

My husband and I took these pictures together today. I'm going to miss this belly. All the stretch marks will remain, but my sweet child won't be alive there any more. I feel like time is running out, slipping away faster then I can grasp it. My heart fully realizes the immense sacrifice that is coming. My heart aches in a different way.

For now we prepare, we wait, we sob, we dream, we hope..... We know Wednesday will be here all together too soon.

We'll welcome our sweet baby Isaac into our arms just like we have done our others, and some how.... some how God remains the same, and life moves on.... even if it drags us behind.

Downhill.

I have found, through the last 8 weeks, that it is amazing what one can learn to live with. Some days I feel like I am sailing along, getting by, and some days I feel like I merely exist. I found myself feeling low today, and feeling the gravity of the situation, when some days I don't. I had the children out shopping with me tonight - the girls especially were in need of some new spring and summer clothing, which I have been ignoring the last few weeks. I came across the most darling piece of clothing for a baby boy, and I almost bought it, and then immediately thought "why bother". At some point, the preparation has to hault, and the realization has to come that I don't get to plan and shop for this baby like I have for the others. And while I hate to admit it, it's true. This child does not need the amount of clothing my other children have needed, this baby is going to die. And standing there, round as can be, thinking that in the store made my heart ache so. I want this baby so bad. So bad it hurts. I want to raise him, love him, feed him, rock him, sing to him, hold him, burp him, dress him, bathe him just like I have my other children. I want my baby to live. I want to feel joy every time he moves, but I feel reminded that although my child is moving, he is lacking the greater part of this brain. And along with that, I feel the exhaustion that not only comes from grieving, but from being pregnant. I can't eat, I can't sleep as well as I want, my body aches, my ribs hurt, my back hurts, I am tired of giving myself injections because my insulin levels are so off because of the constant stress I feel. I want to feel excited for the baby to be born, but I feel so frightened that he might not live long enough to bring him home, which is my most secret wish. I am afraid of how I am going to feel once the baby is born, and dies. I'm afraid to get pregnant again, although I want to, more then anything else in the world. I'm afraid to put my whole faith in knowing I'll bear a healthy child again. I still feel frustrated at the great lack of support I long for from my family and Andrew's, and I worry that this is going to change my relationship with some individuals forever. I don't know how to go back, and realize that I never can. Our lives somehow are being molded by our Maker and some day we'll know and understand why. I am willing to serve the Lord in this way, but every day I feel more inadequate to fulfill this sacrifice. Oh how we love this child and will be eager to meet him, and pray for many tender mercies along the way.

Bird Brain.

It's been a long week. For many reasons, I guess. I've been meaning to post, but I just wasn't feeling it. Above is Beatrice. I spent some time with one of my girlfriends today taking some pictures of her birds. It was a nice way to escape. I forget I love photography, and then I get behind the camera, and feel a peace that is comforting.

It's funny when I find time to sit and think, my mind often wanders back to my childhood. I felt satisfaction tonight, placing a meal on the table, and watching my family eat and enjoy. I thought back to when I was a kid, and knowing what Sunday dinner meant at my house. It meant a pot full of all of the weeks leftovers, mixed together, as some sort of slop. Not my kind of "Sunday Family Dinner". I'm thankful I have more.

This week I've thought a lot about burial plans for my baby.... whether we are going to go the traditional route or cremation. It's tricky living in such a religious community - I feel like I have people breathing down my neck. I don't want to know what they think is a righteous or more main stream choice. I fully plan to do exactly what I want, which is what will be the very best for me and my family, me and my baby.

I'm back into the normal swing of house work, although the more round I get, the more hard it is to clean. I feel more comfortable in my own skin when the house is in order. I felt peaceful shoving in a load of clothes to wash for the kids and Andrew tonight. I feel thankful that I have clothes to wash and dishes to do, and messes to pick up off the floor. It means my home is full, and that is just how I like it to be.

Faith-ing It Up.

Hannah riding Olivia's tricycle.

Ian.

Olivia sporting mud from the garden.

Ian playing basketball.

Ian.

Ian.

Hannah.

Olivia's fashion statement.

Olivia making sure I think she's pretty. Although the child refuses to have her hair combed or wear matching clothing.

Boots, princess dress, and helmet. Ready for anything.


*Sigh*. I have been feeling very grumpy today. The following commentary isn't directed towards any specific person per-say, but it is something that is really pissing me off. I have been VERY disappointed in my support system, minus a few choice individuals. Shortly after I found out about Isaac, I called my girlfriend and cried. I told her I felt like this was something I was going to have to go through alone. She has suffered the loss of a child from Anencephaly, so she knows what it's like to be in my shoes, and was honest, and told me that it WAS something I was going to have to do alone. I believed her. And I still do. I would say that I am a very closed off person. It takes a long time to get close to me, and very few people ever do. It has greatly distressed me that even my close circle falls short. What is it with people not being able to follow through? No one calls. No one offers a meal. No one even emails. I can understand feeling uncomfortable about being in touch - - but through a computer?? Come on people. It ain't that hard. I find myself sitting here feeling irritated by the lack of response from even my family members, and I realize this is the type of trial that is going to make or break many relationships I have. It makes my heart break that I feel the need to retreat permanently from so many people. They are blowing it. This isn't the time to blow it, either. This is the most monumental trial I have ever had to face, and I'm facing it alone. I feel like if family and friends can't be here for me now, don't bother. Don't bother trying to wiggle in to see the baby when it's born, and certainly don't bother coming when I bury my child. Don't bother pretending there is something between us, when there isn't. Some times, no matter how uncomfortable a situation is, you can't run the other way. You stick it out because that is what it means to love some one. Even it you're floundering outside of your comfort zone. Because really? I am, too.

Andrew and I spoke a lot about faith earlier this week. From what I can piece together, he feels like it must be a lack of faith on our part, if our baby isn't healed. I understand his frustrations, and understand each person struggles with the in-justices of the world, in his or her own ways.

There is so much more to faith then asking and receiving. Faith is knowing God is there, even through the trials that bring us to our knees. Faith is submitting to the will of the Father, and finding a way to feel His love, when you feel He is far away. Faith is knowing God is there, even if the world should tell you He isn't.

I have suffered beatings, molestation, food restrictions, room confinement that lasted years. I didn't feel like God was punishing me. I knew better then that, even as a child. I knew having faith meant enduring, not wishing God would take all my suffering from me. With out pain there is no growth. I knew though, that if I had faith, God would provide a way to ease my suffering as much as He could, and He did. I was prompted as a small child, at the age of three, to KNOW with out a doubt that what this certain man was doing to me was wrong. I found him naked in his bed, he pulled the sheets back, and asked me to join him. I knew then and there to say NO. I turned and left his bedroom. He never made another advance again. That is a perfect example of God watching out for his own child. Soon after that, we were taken from his home. I knew when I was 10 or 11 that I was a child of God, that something bigger then myself existed, even if I couldn't comprehend it. Faith is knowing God will show you a way, His way.

I can say that I have never doubted in God, or His plan. There have been times I haven't felt his presence as much as I desired, but I knew he hadn't forsaken me. I know now this child has come to us in such a way that will ensure his safe arrival back into God's arms shortly after birth. I have been asked to be a part of this plan for this child, and I oblige, with as much heartache, soul searching, and pain that comes along with it. Friends, God is good. God is true, and God knows, and facilitates a plan which is best for us, whether we drag our feet along the way. Have faith. Be true to that faith. Crawl, walk, run, sprint through the journey with Him, and dare to have faith that he is beside you, along the way.

Backed In.

I'm not keeping track of how far along I am. It's just not the same. I thought I was 28 weeks along, I'm actually 27. I will have a scheduled section the beginning of May. So. Like. 11 weeks from now.

I'm feeling a wee bit peaked today. Saturday I found a piece of furniture on sale for 100 bucks, normal price : $700.00. I shop like that. I'm a stay at home Mom. Having had my hours cut by 60% (I have a "real" work-from-home job, too), I would say money is tight. We do out best to be "money smart". Tickled with my new find, my girl friend and I had the piece loaded in the back of the van, and off we went. Sorta. I backed into some one else in the parking lot. Going a mile an hour. I caused a paint blemish. Trouble is the other car already had front end damage. It's a wee bit tricky debating over who pays for what. We're going to have to to pay to have the fender re-painted, not paying for ANY other repairs. Still - - we're looking at $300.00, hopefully not more. The people speak Spanish., we're not communicating well. They won't pick up the phone if we call. I need to get this squared AWAY. The only thing I can control right now, is our modest income. I want to know what these other people want from us, so I can work it into the budget. We're looking at medical bills - - hundreds of dollars. We're looking at funeral expenses - - hundreds of dollars. We're looking at missed work in May - - hundreds of dollars. We're planning something special for the kids in May - - another 3 hundred dollars. Money is the only thing I can control right now - it doesn't have a due date, it's not going to die on me...... So, these extra stresses..... they are pushing me over the edge! Weeeeeeeeee!

Life here in Utah moves on. We're fine, for the most part. I still avoid leaving the house as much as possible. I always seems to run into some one I know, and then I cry, and then feel embarrassed..... like Ian's teacher, this Saturday, in the grocery store..... talk about awkward..... "Um... hi... nice to see you.... please excuse me while I bawl over my shopping cart......". My first extinct..... RUN away..... avoid all personal contact. Do. Not. Talk.

The children continue through ups and downs..... I'm doing my best to work things through with them. Summer is going to be a Godsend this year. We just need to play in the sun, and swim, and eat cold treats, and garden, and play the days away. No pressure. Just each other.

Anyway - - until next time. This basket case will be walking on................

Sleep on it.

I've had a horrible time of it trying to sleep this week. The nightmares are relentless. I dreamed that my baby was still alive and they took him from me. I screamed and screamed that he wasn't dead yet, and belonged with me, but they took him anyway. Another night I dreamed I had the baby early, but they re-attached him into my womb, thinking maybe he could survive a little bit longer there. I dreamed a photographer came to photograph the baby and took one or two portraits and left, because he didn't like the looks of my baby.

I've found that I have had a lot of anxiety the last week wondering how the baby will look once he is born. With such a birth defect, much of his head could be missing, and I feel like I need to brace myself for the worst. Yet I have seen many, many pictures of babies with Anencephaly, and each and every newborn babe was a miracle to me, was beautiful, was perfect. I know that when I see my baby his birth defects won't matter, that all I will see is his perfect soul, and I will love him just the same as my other children.

I have had a lot of anxiety wondering how long the baby will live. Will it be minutes, will it be hours, or maybe days? The amount this child moves gives me hope that we will have more than less time with him, but I think it is wise to keep my dreams in check.

I now have 3 outfits each in new born size, and 3 outfits in preemie size. I have three blankets. I have an idea of what I would like the babe to wear for his burial. We know now which plot he will be laid to rest in. It's a family plot, a few miles from our home.

I think a lot about having babies in the future, and really, with all my heart, hoping that I will be able to carry and birth a healthy child in the future. It makes my heart ache in a different way, that this could be my last child, my last pregnancy and newborn. I have wanted all my life to be a mother, and each experience I have had creating life has been a miracle to me. My children are worth more to me than anything else in the world. I can't explain the value I find in having children, new babies, and now my older children. I feel so thankful that I have three of my own. I wish to journey through pregnancy again, bringing home a healthy baby again, and "starting over" again. I don't expect any one else to understand that, but I love being a mother and wife more then anything else in the world. I find immense value in my life, and what I have chosen to do with it.

I have about 12 weeks left to be pregnant. Baby Isaac moves a lot. We love him, and continue to love him more each day. Life moves on, although I find I struggle each day to act and feel like it does. On the other hand I spend a lot of time feeling happy and enjoying my children. I take a new pleasure in mothering them, as to make the most of every minute I have with them. The house is clean tonight, except the bathroom which I still have left to tidy. We enjoyed a homemade meal as a family this evening, and all the kids are bathed and dressed in clean jammies. I have laundry washing, laundry drying. I feel ready to start a new week, and feel capable to fulfill my responsibilites. God is good, and we carry on, one step at at time.

One week.

My heart has been heavy all day. But filled with sweet reminders of how lucky we are to have this baby growing inside of me as he just kicked as I'm writing this journal entry. It was a week ago today that we found out Isaac will be born with Anencephaly. I dream of how long he'll live, hoping for a couple hours instead of just minutes. I've thought about the past 7 days, and have been grateful to see the progress the children have made in their grief. They truly are amazing. How Andrew and I love them! I've been thinking about how I need to force myself to shop for the baby's outfits - what I'll dress him in at the hospital, and what we'll bury him in. I can't bring myself to do it yet. As the days pass I feel more confidant in my ability to live with this trial, and am slowly returning to my household duties. I've planned dinner this evening. Big step for me. Andrew has worked the week well, and has been a top performer at work. He's a strong, good man. He loves to touch my belly for "good luck" he says. I'm not used to being touched so much, but this is his boy, too - - I can share! The children have transitioned back into school well, and have the support of very loving teachers, whom we are amazingly gratful for. I've thought of the baby's name often this week: Isaac Brighman Nielson. We decided on the name Isaac months before we knew we were pregnant. It reminds me of the story of Abraham and Isaac, Abraham being willing to lay his child's life at the Lord's feet. We've been asked to do the same, and will do so, bring grateful to our Father for giving us time with this sweet and perfect spirit.

By name.

I sat up for a while last night, after venting my anger to the world, and I decided that I have got to find a way a start bonding with my child, in despite of all of the whirlwind feelings that inhabit my heart right now. I started a letter to my baby, and will write to him often. And I started calling my unborn child by name, which has been a little difficult for me. It's hard speaking his name knowing he will live only a short time. I also decided that I have the right and ability to prepare for my baby. Of course I won't be preparing in the same way that I would for a child that God has given the ability to live on this earth, but I can prepare to honor him, cherish him, and love him. I am going to buy some wooden blocks - 3 of them - - and order some lettering as his initials that I can keep on a shelf in the living room. I thought of picture frames I want to buy, outfits I need to think about. And my best idea yet? I was given a beautiful white crocheted blanket today. I will use this blanket at the hospital for my sweet love, and then I am going to convert the blanket into a pillow cover, that I can keep on my bed, with me, especially during the lonely nights ahead.

I wasn't quite with it today. This was the first day the kids were in school, and Andrew went off to work. I dropped Andrew off and called my girlfriend and she planned 2 hours to come be with me. Because she was here, I was able to get the house picked up, I'd say, 70%. She cleaned 60%, I did 10. The last little bit I feel like I can finish tonight. Lisa told me to sort laundry, so I did. I sorted out 2 loads of wash for the kids - - they have clothes for the week. I did a load of whites - we have socks, underpants, all the essentials. I did one load for Andrew and I, we have clothes for the week, as well. I have about 5 loads left to wash, but nothing is pressing because we're set for the week. My goal is to wash and fold one load each day, getting caught up. Baby steps, you know??

And last, my gift of the day, was knowing how blessed we are to have teachers for our children that love and cherish them. I emailed Ian and Hannah's teachers today, asking how they were doing, and this one of their responses:

"Today she shared with us her Build a Bear. She seemed good and said she got the bear because it would help her not to be so sad about her baby brother. I'm glad she felt she was able to share this information with the class. I know this disappointment may manifest itself in different ways so I will be aware of any changes I see and let you know how she is doing. She was in good spirits but obviously not her usual bubbly, happy self. I felt she was being quite brave and confident today as she was able to follow directions and get her work done as usual.

How are YOU doing? My prayers are with your family. Don't worry about the homework. I will mark that she got it done. She is a good, honest student and I am not worried about her homework at this time. Taking care of your family's needs is your top priority right now and I am here to help. May you feel the love of the Savior through this time of trial. I love Hannah and will do whatever you feel is best for her.

Thoughtfully,
Mrs. Lovely "

We could not ask for more for our children. They are in good hands during the day at school, and I have time to figure out how life will go on.

Angry.

I feel angry tonight. I feel angry my children have grief in their eyes, and that I cannot take it from them. I feel angry that I am not having a healthy baby, and that my baby will die. I feel angry that tomorrow the kids go back to school, Andrew back to work, and I’m going to be alone. I feel angry that I have 10 loads of laundry to do, and that there is not one room in the house that is clean. I am angry that I feel alone. I feel angry that in all reality this is something that I have to face by myself, along with my husband and children. I feel mad that I have to find out how to live through the next 17 weeks. I am angry that I don’t get to prepare for this child in the way I had dreamed. I feel angry that I now look at other mothers with their infants or round bellies and know I won’t get to raise my child. I feel angry with God, and I feel angry with myself that I cannot fix this.

Bring The Rain.

Please check out this blog. I was re-directed there today by my girlfriend Danielle . Isn't she lovely? Both of these women, actually.

This post is amazing in every way, but you'll have to read (watch and listen) to enjoy the full beauty of it today.

My heart is heavy, yet very full at the same time. But honestly, grieving is a way I would prefer to not have to "grow" through. It's not the Refiner's fire I wish to walk through, yet I will. We'll lay this child down at His feet with open arms and hearts and beg to be healed.

So. Check this out: http://audreycaroline.blogspot.com/2008/04/slideshow.html

You won't be disappointed that you did.

Grieving.

It’s an interesting thing when crisis strikes, you have the opportunity to find out what you’re made up of. I haven’t felt made of much the last few days.

Meet Isaac Brigham Nielson. This is my baby boy, still living in womb, perfect to us in every way, but not so much to the doctors. We found out he has a neural tube defect called Anencephaly, which means he will be born with little or no brain and scull. His prognosis is death, shortly after birth.

I cannot even express what it meant to my world to hear this news. I felt dazed. Shocked. I cried, and couldn’t stop. I sobbed. I drove to pick up my husband from work and couldn’t remember street names and numbers, where I had driven hundreds of times. And the children. WHAT would I tell my children?

After thinking for the last couple days, I’ve decided to write. And write in such a way that is healing to me. I’ll have this record not only for myself, but for my family, so we can look back some day and realize then we are strong enough now to get through this battle now.

After receiving the news Thursday, I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up all night researching on the internet about my boy’s condition. I read, I looked at photographs, I laid my head down on my desk and sobbed. Friday night? I decided to stay off of the internet. The kids and I made a huge bed in the living room, and we slept together. I think I was able to sleep last night for 4 or 5 hours, forcing myself to push thoughts out of my head, trying not to weep. Weep over silly things. Things that haven’t even happened yet. Like. Who of my family could be there for me when I have the baby? What happens if I cry too much when Isaac is born? How will I be able to dress my child for burial. I weep because I can’t stand to see my children is such pain, grieving. I weep because it isn’t fair. I weep because I don’t know how I am going to come home from the hospital with empty arms. I weep because my husband is in pain, and I sob because I feel so devastated and heartbroken.

God is good. I am not being punished. For some reason, Andrew, the children and I have been given this trial and blessing in our lives, and I can only cling to the knowledge that we, as a family, some how are strong enough to survive this. Not only survive, but be better for it.

I’m beginning to hate the night. It’s now Saturday evening, around 8:00 pm. Right around 6:00, it started again. The horrible sorrow. My heart aches so badly, it makes my chest hurt. Tonight I keep thinking of all the things I feel cheated out of. I keep thinking “The last time I ran the vacuum, I thought my baby was alive” or “The last time I cooked a decent meal for my family I thought I was a mother of three, preparing lovingly for her fourth child”. My husband took the crib down this afternoon, and I couldn’t watch. Each time I gaze into Ian’s room, there is a huge hole where my baby should be sleeping in May. I walked into the bathroom, and I remember last giving the children a bath and thinking I needed to buy my Johnson’s and Johnson’s shampoo for the baby. I thought today about how I wouldn’t be happily exhausted feeding a baby into the wee hours of the morning. Instead I get to come home - bleed like I’ve had my healthy newborn, feel my milk come in, and get to lay there at night, alone, and wishing for my child to be with me. I weep with sadness as I think of these things.

And now, now it’s time for movie night. The kids want to sleep together in the living room again, and right now, anything seems better then being alone in the night with my tears, grief, and thoughts I cannot quiet.